I’m a huge admirer of Beyoncé. I wish her and Jay-Z every happiness on the birth of their baby girl. But I’m worried about the consequences of saddling their daughter with the name Blue.

Anyone in my neck of the woods who says “I’m Blue” by way of introduction is sure to be met by the chipper riposte of, “Well, cheer up love!” Little Blue will need the patience of a saint because this is one joke that will wear thin very quickly. Of course she could always get around it by appearing perpetually happy. But that’s a strain on anybody, let alone a young kid.

And what will happen when she reaches that awkward adolescent stage? Imagine her listening to music with her friends. Any song lyric that includes the phrase “feeling blue” will be accompanied by smutty snickering from the boys. I can picture Blue, the teenager, rolling her eyes in exasperation and muttering, “Oh, for pity’s sake!”

Things won’t get any better in later life. In the old people's home, “I’m Blue” will be interpreted as a cry for help rather than an introduction. “What’s that you say dear, you’re cold? I’ll get you a nice warm blanket.” Or, worse still. “Got a blue one over here; call the paramedics!”